Chapter 11 #2
Hendrix had never wanted anything less in his life. Or more. At the same time. He wanted this so fucking bad he could taste it. And he wanted to dive to the bottom of the Southern freaking Ocean and sit there until it all went away.
He hated feeling so out of control. He hated the need he had to be near them.
Dylan and Kellan, of all people.
Both.
What the actual fuck?
He hated the peace he felt as soon as he had Dylan in his arms, and he hated it even more when Kellan held them both.
He hated that he wanted it.
It wasn’t fair. To have his will ripped away, to have his freedom of choice removed. The idea that the mating bond was a choice was a freaking joke.
He hated the turmoil, the heartache, the pain. Actual physical pain in every part of his body. There was a noise in his head, chaotic and loud, that he was certain would drown out his sanity, and his hearts were squeezing with every breath.
He hated that he could make it all go away if he just said yes.
Which he had. Kind of. When he’d given Kellan a nod, he’d relented.
Surrendered.
Which, in his defence and to his merit, Hendrix had only surrendered, relented, needed, Kellan’s arms around him for Dylan’s sake.
Not his own.
That was the lie he told himself anyway. When he’d tried to walk away and it’d felt as if he was being torn in two.
He’d do anything to keep Dylan safe. He always had. It was for Dylan, not himself. The fact that Hendrix had almost buckled with relief was beside the point.
And then Kellan...
Strong, constant, resilient, and ever-patient Kellan.
To see him struggle, to feel his fear…. Hendrix had never needed to fix something, a situation, more in his entire life.
To have Kellan admit he was afraid changed something in Hendrix. It changed him.
Hendrix hated a lot of things about this whole fucking mess. He could make a list. An extensive list. With bullet points and pictures, if he had the time.
Which he didn’t.
But he was beginning to think what he hated the most—the part that was really starting to piss him off—was the three stoic Norwegian visitors and the way they stood by and were studying Dylan, Kellan, and himself.
Hendrix didn’t like how Marten was looking at Dylan and Kellan at all.
Like they doubted the legitimacy. Like their triple mating bond was the equivalent of a farmer’s cow birthing a two-headed calf. A scientific exception. A circus act.
And they were Fray’s cousins? Oh please. It was laughable because they could not have been more different if they’d tried. Did they look alike? Maybe. But their personalities?
They were poles apart.
Literally.
Fray was fun, charming, funny as fuck, and wore a perma-grin.
These three stooges had the combined personality of a wet mop.
They walked with their hands clasped, almost gliding in long, fluid steps.
They watched everything, studied it as if filing all the details in mental folders for them to examine and compare notes on later.
Hendrix couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen Marten smile. Not a real smile. A practiced one, sure. The placating, superior smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
The one he was giving Hendrix right now.
This was all happening out in the street.
Hendrix, Dylan, and Kellan stood together, and the three Norwegians stood back in a practiced line with their silent judgement, with Ciaran in the middle like the mediator of a standoff in a game of chess.
Sawyer stood near the shop window, leaning against the wall, not part of the meeting per se, but behind Ciaran nonetheless.
The three of them gave Hendrix total headmaster/monk feels, and that was something he didn’t vibe with. He understood why Ciaran respected them, but given Hendrix wasn’t a leader or anything, he certainly didn’t have to.
When Marten’s scrutiny shifted to Dylan, making Dylan nervous, Hendrix didn’t like that at all.
“Don’t look at him,” Hendrix said, low voice like cut steel, his gaze fixed on Marten.
Ciaran inhaled deeply and put his hands up, palms facing Hendrix.
“Everything’s fine. No one is looking at anyone,” he said.
“Hendrix, I know you’re feeling a lot of big things right now.
It’s a lot to contain. I get that.” Ciaran’s gaze locked with his, copper meeting copper.
Familiar eyes. Ones that knew and understood.
“I think it might be best if we take our leave now,” Kellan said, putting his arms around both Dylan and Hendrix. “We need to talk, just the three of us. I’m sure you understand.”
Kellan wasn’t waiting for anyone’s permission; he was simply more polite than Hendrix. Kellan led them to their place, to the house Dylan and Kellan shared with Aurin. Aurin wasn’t there, which wasn’t uncommon, so they had privacy in the place where Dylan was most comfortable.
Because Kellan knew him so well.
Hendrix couldn’t explain why that made his hearts swell with such affection. He couldn’t explain why there was no jealousy, or why Dylan and Kellan’s happiness was the most paramount thing in his life.
Why he felt so secure in knowing they felt the same about him.
They were doing this. They were really going to complete the bond, and now that Hendrix had made his mind up, he realised just how badly he wanted it.
Kellan turned to Dylan and cupped his jaw. “A big day, huh?”
Dylan nodded, leaning into Kellan’s palm, and closed his eyes. “Yes.”
Hendrix stood behind Dylan, his hands on his hips, and rested his forehead against the side of Dylan’s head, his eyes meeting Kellan’s. Kellan’s dark blue eyes were a storm of uncertainty clouded with desire and something else Hendrix couldn’t name.
“We need to talk,” Kellan said, his voice rough. Hendrix could feel his turmoil, his insecurity.
Kellan’s insecurity? His earlier fear, Hendrix could understand, but Kellan had nothing to be uncertain about. He was so smart, so stable, and he knew who he was.
“Why are you so unsure?” Dylan asked, looking up at Kellan.
“I can feel it too,” Hendrix added. “And you were afraid before.”
Kellan huffed out a laugh, but then his brow furrowed. “You’re both young, and I’m—”
“We’re twenty-two in human years,” Dylan said.
“And I’m thirty-one,” Kellan countered. “I don’t want either of you to feel... coerced, or that I’m misleading—”
“Did you instigate this?” Hendrix asked.
Kellan blinked in surprise. “No. Of course not.”
“Did you say, ‘Hey universe, give me those two younger, hot, single guys. Yes, both of them at the same time, thanks’?” Hendrix added.
Dylan snorted and Kellan relented a smile. “No.”
“Then this is not your doing, and you can’t coerce us into anything.” Hendrix nudged Dylan. “Do you feel coerced?”
He shook his head. “I feel... a lot of things right now. Coerced is not one of them.”
“Do you want this, Dyl?” Hendrix asked.
He looked up at Kellan, then turned his head to Hendrix. “Yes.”
“Kellan, do you want this?” Hendrix asked.
He closed his eyes and nodded.
“I need you to say it,” Hendrix added.
Kellan looked up then, his eyes sapphire flames. “Yes. I want it. I want you both. Equally, completely, and always. I never knew anything like this was possible, and now I want nothing else. I don’t know how this will work. There is nothing like us in any book or living memory to reference.”
“We will make it work,” Dylan said quietly, surely. “We’ll face it together. I know if I have both of you, I can do anything. I can face anything. And maybe that’s why the gods made this bond for three: because I need the strength of the two strongest men I know.”
Hendrix hummed, his hands on Dylan’s hips. He pressed his forehead to the back of Dylan’s head. Sweet Dylan, bright and fun, whose own brain betrayed him with anxiety. He was like a hummingbird, Hendrix thought. Flighty, sometimes jittery, always beautiful.
Then Hendrix gently pushed Dylan to Kellan, then stepped in behind him. The three of them aligned, pressed together. Kellan’s hands went to Dylan’s waist, his fingers skimming over Hendrix’s, then up his arms to his back.
“Oh fuck,” Dylan hissed, his breath hitching, and his head fell back onto Hendrix’s shoulder.
Kellan’s eyes darkened, his pupils sliding into slits. Hendrix had never seen him lose control before. He’d never seen Kellan in this light before. Never seen him with another man.
Then Dylan began to writhe, rocking back and forth, sandwiched between them.
Hendrix could feel the desire, the need, coming from both of them. It settled in his bones like gasoline searching for fire. All it needed was the path of least resistance.
All it needed was permission.
And one single solitary spark.
Hendrix kept his gaze locked on Kellan’s. “Kiss him,” he said.
Dylan whined, the sweetest involuntary sound, and Kellan leaned down and captured his mouth.
Dylan groaned as he opened his mouth to take Kellan’s tongue, to swallow the grunt, the pure need. And holy fuck, Hendrix had never felt lust and desire like it.
Then Kellan kissed him, sliding his tongue into Hendrix’s mouth, and sparkles danced inside his bones, behind his eyelids. He could taste them both, an elixir he’d never tire of.
Dylan moaned, his body pressed tight in the middle. Hendrix ground his erection against Dylan’s arse crack, his tongue in Kellan’s mouth.
And Hendrix had never felt more alive, more in tune, more turned on. He needed more. He needed it all.
“I need you both,” Dylan begged. Then he turned around between them so Hendrix could kiss him. And holy fuck, did they kiss. Hendrix could feel Dylan’s erection, his hands around Hendrix’s back, over his arse. “Both of you, please.”
Kellan groaned as he kissed the back of Dylan’s neck. “I’m going to make you both mine,” he murmured, and the flintstone sparked.
And the gasoline caught, igniting the dark—and in that moment and as it would forever, Hendrix was now certain—it lit up their entire world.
This was happening.
This was theirs.
The three of them. Somehow, some way. Everything Hendrix didn’t know he was missing, he would find. Everything he didn’t know he needed, he would have.
“Both mine,” Dylan agreed, breathless, wanting, and Hendrix swore he heard angels singing.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Both mine.”